


The Light of Lusst'ghaa

by LizzieAddamsTookAnAxe



Category: Lust From Beyond (Video Game), Lust for Darkness (Video Game)
Genre: Anal, Artistic License: Religion, Consentacles, Cuckolding, Cult, Cultists, Cults, Dubious Consentacles, Eldritch Abominations (Cthulhu Mythos), Emotionally Repressed, F/F, F/M, Femdom, Femsub, Fucking Machines, Gangbang, Impregnation, Loss of Virginity, Lovecraftian, Lovecraftian Erotica, Lovecraftian Monster(s), Mind Control, Multi, No beta readers we die like women, Orgy, Other, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-lovecraftian, Sex Cult, Tentacles, Tribadism, Virginity, Womb Tattoo, Womb Tattoos, cosmic horror, post-game: Lust From Beyond, prude-to-slut transformation, well not Cthulhu Mythos but pretty damn eldritch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29726865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzieAddamsTookAnAxe/pseuds/LizzieAddamsTookAnAxe
Summary: Christine Robins is a perfectly normal History major, thank you very much. Sure, she may have these weird dreams sometimes, but otherwise she's perfectly normal, just like her mother raised her.Amanda Moon is the recently-crowned Steward of Lusst'ghaa, right-hand woman of lauv'abrarc, and she has need of yet another Seeing One for ambiguously-malevolent purposes. Fortunately, in the person of Ms. Robins, she has one.She didn't anticipate that a Seeing born with a strong connection to Lusst'ghaa could be so emotionally and sexually repressed that she would subconsciously block off her connection to the Lustful God's realm, but such things are easily remedied with time, attention, and obscene amounts of impossibly kinky sex.
Relationships: Amanda Moon/Female Original Character, Amanda Moon/Jonathan Moon
Kudos: 12





	1. What Dreams May Cum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I realized while writing chapter two that, while I like the BDSM tones and this IS a fantasy not IRL, that the non-con feel was WAY too strong, and wound up getting disturbed by what I had written.
> 
> So, this chapter has been tweaked here and there to make our heroine's reaction to Amanda more mixed, more of a 'yielding to overwhelmingly persuasive ravishment' than 'suffering traumatic r*pe.'
> 
> By actual real world morals this would, in fact, still not be consensual. Always practice stringent consent, and remember that bodice rippers are wank fodder, not instruction manuals.
> 
> Please, feel free to comment!

_“Pleasure to me is wonder—the unexplored, the unexpected, the thing that is hidden and the changeless thing that lurks behind superficial mutability.”_

_-_ H.P. Lovecraft.

_“Beyond the horizon of perception, vibrate the streams of Essence._

_They reveal Lusst’ghaa, the Land of Eternal Ecstasy, to Seeing Ones._

_We will follow it’s glow until we run out of breath._

-The Book of Lasih.

~o0o~

_“Yv’h, lauv’abrarc, yv’h lusst’ghaa…”_

My ears were filled with song.

It was dark, dark and _wet_. The air was hot and humid all around me, muggy as a summer’s day, but with the comforting smells of fresh-cut grass and blooming wildflowers replaced with something I couldn’t identify, something that somehow smelled both of heated crotch sweat and… salt? The sea? Heated metal? Blood? Whatever it was, it was heavy in my nostrils, both revoltingly strong and yet almost… arousing? No, no, I couldn’t be aroused, that would be disgusting. I tried to shake my head clear of the strange thoughts, but my head wouldn’t move.

I lay in what must have been a pool of my own sweat on something that felt molded to my form and oddly warm. Not like a warm bed is warm, whatever it was felt almost organic. It even seemed to pulse slightly beneath me, like I could feel it’s heartbeat. Like I was being held by something alive. Not a very encouraging thought. 

My arms were bound, I think, or- no, I couldn’t feel anything holding me down, I just couldn’t _move_ . Sleep paralysis? Was I still in my bed, and just hallucinating this whole thing like some sort of alien abduction? Was I about to get probed by Roswell Greys? I would have laughed hysterically, I think, except my mouth seemed to be as paralyzed as my arms and legs. I think I panicked a little then. I tried to sit up, to kick, to scream, _anything._ But I couldn’t. I could only lie there, frozen stiff, my only movement the steady in and out of my breath. 

The song came again, an almost Gregorian chant sung by what sounded like men and women both, the highs and lows blending into a single haunting chant. It was almost ethereal, and would have been peaceful and pleasant to listen to if not for the circumstances. 

_“Yv’h, ah’maahnda. Yv’h lusstghaa.”_

It must be a dream, I decided then. People in real life didn’t get kidnapped by singing cults like something out of a bad cosmic horror movie, paralyzed, laid on some sort of pulsating altar, and sung to; ergo this wasn’t real life. Well, that was a relief to figure out; if this was all a dream, then there was no sense panicking.

What the hell language was that, anyway? It wasn’t a language I spoke, or had even heard before, but it felt strangely familiar. Like something from a dream I had had when I was a child, or the face of a friend I hadn’t seen in decades… I didn’t _know_ it, and yet I couldn’t quite say I _didn’t_ know it. It wasn’t Latin, that’s for sure, even though the singing sounded like plainsong. It wasn’t any occult or cultic language I’d studied, like Enochian or Reverse Latin, or even fictional occult languages like Aklo. I couldn’t recognize a single word, but it felt more and more like I could almost understand it. 

‘Yv’h’. The way they sang it, maybe it meant ‘hail’ or ‘praise’? Like ftaghn, but with less phlegm. ‘Hail lauv’abrarc.’ A god? A concept? A place? An event? And what was kLusst’ghaa”? What a bizarre sort of word- it sounded like ‘lust,’ but _that_ had to be a coincidence. As I lay there trying to puzzle my way through an alien language for lack of anything better to do, the darkness was lit, slowly, from all sides, in slow throbbing pulses. 

The light was dim, a dull white glow that in normal circumstances probably would have been too dim to see by, but after the complete darkness the light stabbed into my eyes like knives. A thin groan came from between my lips, the first sound I had succeeded in making. I tried to form words, to ask them to turn the lights off and let me go, but all I could manage was a faint ‘Nnnngh,’ that sounded like little more than an escaped breath.

As the lights pulsed brighter and dimmer, I heard a low sound accompanying them, an almost mechanical drone or whir, or maybe _pulse-whir_ , that sounded more like a musical sting from a sci-fi soundtrack than anything I’d ever heard in real life. It sort of sounded like ‘vhoom.’

_Vhoom. Vhoom. Vhoom. Vhoom._

I could see, now, between the pulses. The ceiling above me was arched, made of some oily grey substance that formed Gigeresque ripples and ridges that glistened in the light. Pulsating biomechanical pipes dangled from the spine-like arches that joined together in a ring around a perversely yonic opening, and the pipes thrust into it and vanished inside. The opening in the ceiling was pinkish and mottled, like diseased flesh, and it expanded and contracted around the bundle of pipes almost as though it were in a state of continuous orgasm, like a woman clenching around her lover’s penis must look, and the pipes seemed to slowly push in and out of the slick opening. Liquid dripped slowly out around the thrusting pipes to drip to the floor, and I could hear the wet schlicking sound they made. One pipe in the center of the other pipes, thinner than the others, seemed to be reaching straight down towards me, but I couldn’t move my head to see where it actually ended up.

 _Vhoom_.

What. The. _Heck?_

 _Vhoom_.

If this was a dream, then I _clearly_ needed to get laid more. The symbolism here was so heavy-handed in it’s perverse eroticism, it felt like a pornographic movie designed by H.R. Giger and H.P. Lovecraft’s lovechild while hopped-up on a double dose of rectally-applied Nitrous Freudium. I knew I wasn’t the most sexually experienced person in the world- I didn’t even _masturbate_ much, only when the need got so bad it distracted me from college essays and study- and so, sure, maybe I had some pent-up sexual energy I’d been repressing that could conceivably result in weird dreams, but this was _ridiculous_ . I had weird dreams sometimes, sure, but never _sex_ dreams. Not since I was a _teenager,_ and even _then_ it had never been like _this._

I felt whatever paralysis was holding me down weaken just a little, and tried to slowly raise my head. God, my neck muscles felt weak as a kitten! I couldn’t lift my body up at all, but with my head free I could, with some effort, lift it up just enough to see around the room.

 _Vhoom_.

The first thing I noticed was that I was as naked as the day I was born. The second was that I was completely _impaled_ through the stomach.

Ok, after a few seconds to panic and hyperventilation, it turns out ‘impaled’ was probably a slight exaggeration. The pipe _probably_ wasn’t going into my body- there was no feeling of pain or fullness, and when I clenched my stomach muscles I couldn’t feel anything different about them. More accurately, the pipe was joined to some sort of odd metal _thing_ that covered my groin and lower stomach like some bizzare techno-organic panty, or crotch-plate, or… _something_ , I don’t know. I’d never seen anything like it. It looked like something out of a messed-up 80s sci-fi film, all organic ridges and whirls, like some pervert’s xenomorph sex-slave fantasy bikini. It cupped my hips and covered my groin, and judging by the sensations of something wedged between my cheeks it had something like a thong back. God; I'd never even worn _regular_ thongs much less… whatever the heck this all was! This whole thing was _insane._ I didn’t even _want_ to think about what was causing the odd feelings of _fullness_ down there. I couldn’t let myself think about it, or I’d panic for sure.

_Vhoom. Vhoom._

I was lying on a table of some sort, made of the same weirdly-organic material as the room. The top was made of a milky white somethingorother that looked like glass but was too warm and soft, molding itself to my body as I weakly shifted back and forth, that glowed dimly and pulsed along with the room lights. The lights were set into recessed sconces in the walls all around me, which were ribbed like the inside of a ribcage. 

There was no sign of the choir I had heard, or anyone else for that matter. No people, no door that I could see, just walls and lights. Was the music being pumped in by speaker? Where the singers in the next room? Or in a room under me? Were the singers just outside the door? Assuming there _was_ a door. Assuming there were singers. Assuming this dream made any _sense._

Could I move yet? No, not really. A little wiggle was all. The altar top seemed to be thrumming a little harder beneath me, or maybe that was just my heart beating harder in panic. Well, look on the bright side- the paralysis wasn’t affecting my breathing, and it wasn’t affecting my neck any more. Pretty soon I’d probably be able to move. Hopefully.

_Vhoom._

Between one pulse and the next, _she_ appeared. 

She was stark naked, save for a porcelain mask and a short black leather jacket. The mask was white save for a black circle on the forehead, blood red lips, and two crimson tears trickling down the cheeks. The eyebrows were decorated with ornate black curlicues, and the eye sockets were rimmed with black paint. The expression of the mask was blank, serent. It gave her the look of a porcelain geisha doll, contrasting oddly with the slickly modern biker vibes of the jacket. Her hair was black, tied in a high ponytail, and shone in the light. She was... beautiful. It was a absurd thing to think, in the middle of such an utterly bizarre experience, but there it was- the woman was utterly, absurdly beautiful. Her beauty didn't make me feel jealous or insecure, it didn't make me feel inadequate, I just could not ignore it. I couldn't look away. Everything about her, from the gentle waves of pitch-black hair that cascaded down her shoulders to her shapely breasts to the gentle curve of her collarbone, everything was perfection incarnate. I stared so long without blinking that my eyes began to tear up.

_Vhoom._

She was right by me, now, close enough to touch if only I could just _move_ , and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that she could just as easily touch me, while I lay there helpless and paralyzed. Her head tilted, like an inquisitive bird, and I could feel her eyes sweep up and down the length of my body, lingering on the pipe jutting from my groin. The light was steady now, a cold dim white coming from all around. I could see her clearly. “P-p-please,” I managed to get out. I tried to say more, maybe ‘Please don’t kill me,’ or ‘Please help me,’ but I couldn’t get the words out. My chest felt like the air itself was weighing me down, my vocal cords were frozen still. I felt so _weak_.

She didn’t reply, but reached out and grabbed the still-throbbing pipe and twisted it sharply to the left, before pulling it free. Oooohshitshitshit that felt _bizzare_ , halfway between what I imagined pulling a large dildo out of yourself would feel like- not that I’d even _done_ something like that in real life- and poking at your belly button, but in reverse. The strange woman held the pipe up to my face for a moment, as if to show it off, and I gasped as loud as I could at the sight of the thin tendrils that _writhed_ out of the ends of it. Those things had been _inside_ of me? Penetrating my flesh, wriggling around in my _guts?_ I looked down at my belly, but the crotch plate still covered it, hiding whatever damage that _thing_ had done to my stomach beneath the alien metal.

And then she spoke. “Afraid, Seeing? Of this little trinket?” She shook her head slowly, and her tone turned gently chiding, like a disappointed schoolmistress. “Oh, my sweet Seeing. There are _so_ many more terrifying things waiting for you, in the dark. This little old thing?” She held the pipe up and waved it demonstratively. “This is your _best friend,_ dear.” She paused, head tilted in contemplation. “Well, _I’m_ your best friend, really. But trust me, this runs a _very_ close second. I’ll take it out for the moment, as a show of trust, but this hasn’t done it’s job yet and believe me, you’ll want it to, Seeing.”

The way she said the word, it wasn’t a verb at all, but almost… a title? Why was she calling me ‘Seeing’? What the hell _was_ a ‘Seeing,’ anyway?

“See- seeing?” I managed to croak.

“Oh, so you _do_ talk,” she said teasingly, letting the pipe drop to the floor with a wet squelch, and folding her arms beneath her breasts. “I’ll admit, I was beginning to wonder about that, my dear. Thought the Changed had got your tongue.”

My… my _tongue?_ Something out there wanted to take my tongue?

My confusion must have been clearly mirrored on my face, because she laughed, a bright and joyous noise utterly incongruous with the dark alien surroundings, and said “A joke. That was a joke, Seeing. No one’s going to take your tongue. I have plans for your tongue, you see.” She spread her first two fingers wide and placed them to the lips of her mask, rubbing them back and forth. “If you take my meaning.”

She placed the hand on my lips, slipping a finger between them and thrusting gently in and out. Oh. I get it. I’ve been kidnapped by a lesbian alien who wants me to go down on her. She’s going to turn blue and develop head-tentacles any minute, right? Why me? Why not someone who actually _liked_ this sort of thing? Why not Cindy; she swung both ways, and she’d said the effing _xenomorph_ was goddamn sexy during one of our movie nights! She’d effing _love_ this! Why choose me? I'm straight as an arrow! I steadfastly ignored the little voice whispering in the back of my mind saying, ' _sure you are: just who was staring at her breasts so hard her eyes watered a minute ago?'_ I'd been ignoring that voice for years, and had plenty of practice.

“‘Seeing’ or ‘Seeing One’ is the term we use for very special people like yourself. It’s quite a literal term, really- you have the power to ‘see’ into other realms. Psychics, basically. In ancient times people like you were shamans, seers, Pythias, biblical prophets. But now you’re expected to parade your abilities on Jerry Springer for a mocking audience, or sit in a puddle of your own filth in an asylum, drugged to the gills. But I saved you from all that, my dear. You’re going to be very special indeed.”

There was only one response I could make to that. “Y-you’re… _insane.”_ Something in me screamed at the thought of insulting her. It felts as wrong as laughing in church. But what other word could I use?

“Hmmm,” she said, her tone teasing. “She gets her voice back and uses it to insult me. Not the most promising start to the very special sort of relationship that you and I will be sharing. And after I’ve gone to all this effort to bring you here and give you a very special gift! But, I know, I know, I _have_ been going about this all wrong. Bringing you here, paralyzing you, rambling about things you couldn’t possibly hope to understand yet... it must be terrifying for you waiting like this, unable to move, like the buildup of fear and tension in a horror movie right before the cat scare. But don’t worry- I promise you, you’ve _completely_ misjudged the genre of our little _tete-a-tete.”_

She raised her left hand imperiously, and the lights dimmed, the cold white glow turning a warm amber. She crouched down, and retrieved the pipe from where it lay. Oh, no. Nononononono. Please no. “Please,” I said aloud, “I don’t understand what you _want_ from me! Just… just let me… just…” I slumped back, utterly exhausted by the effort of speaking. It didn’t seem to have any effect on the woman.

“I think we’ve had enough foreplay for tonight.” Leaning over me, she brought the pipe up, held itover my belly, and as I shook my head with all the strength I could muster, she plunged it back into my belly with a sickeningly-wet _squlorch._ I screamed at the feeling of utterly alien violation, my vocal cords seemingly shocked back to life by the sensation. I felt so _invaded_ , feeling the weird techno-organic thing thrust deep into me, into a place nothing should be able to go. There was no pain, not really, just an utterly sickening sense of wrongness.

“You see, dear, you think you’re in a horror movie,” she purred, locking the pipe with a twist. She stepped away, pressing a seemingly undistinguished section of the wall, and what must have been some sort of alien control panel emerged from the floor with a meaty wet sound. The thing looked every bit as Freudian as the pipes above me, a low stand that flared out at the top into a barbed disk like the mane of a xenomorph frilled-neck lizard, with a gaping mouth in the center that sprouted a barbed stinger-tongue. She braced herself against the console with her left hand and with her right grasped the protruding tongue in a forward grip, and pushed it slowly down into the device, letting out a pleased “Hmmmm, yes, there we go!” to herself as she did so. Something about the way she moved made the act seem obscene, almost as though she were _pleasuring_ the alien machine, _making love_ to it with it’s own tongue.

The lights turned an eye-searing shade of magenta and began to pulse again, the low _pulse-whirr_ returned louder than ever, and the device clamped to my hips began to vibrate gently. I was too exhausted from my effort of screaming previously to even groan as suddenly my crotch and backside felt unnaturally _full_ , as though the device had extruded probes into my vagina and anus before I had woken up and somehow just swelled them to uncomfortable size. Oh no. Oh, Good Lord. Did I just lose my virginity to a bikini-machine-thing?

At least it didn’t hurt. At first they were uncomfortable, as they were dry as bones and every little wriggle and vibration tugged them around in my holes, but then I felt their movement ease as some sort of slickness formed inside of me. They couldn’t have torn me that easily, so it wasn’t blood- was I getting wet? For this thing? But, no, my anus was slick as well, and obviously _that_ doesn’ get wet like a vagina; the probes must have been self-lubricating.

That was _disgusting._ I couldn’t move, I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t clench myself shut to resist the machine violating me; all I could do was lie there and take whatever the strange woman intended to do to me. Could I protest; if not in screams, at least in whispers? I was unsure.

_Vhoom. Vhoom._

“This, my dear, isn’t horror.” The damned woman spoke over my weak, breathy attempts to protest, and stood up, removing her mask in one smooth motion to reveal a face like the Bernini statue of Saint Teresa- cold marble twisted in divine exaltation, a melding of holy ecstasy and sensual Earthly bliss. “This is _porn.”_

_Vhoom._

The vibration of the machine increased suddenly, and the probes embedded in my lower body began to vibrate as well, a steady buzz that slowly transformed into a throbbing pulsation that seemed to penetrate _everywhere._ I didn’t just feel it in my crotch, I felt it in my head, in my teeth, in my bones. It was like I was dissolving into the vibrations, like my flesh was being filled with some sort of strange energy. The vibrations made the probes swish back and forth in my well-lubricated orifices. It was almost pleasurable.

The probes began to thrust, and you could forget the ‘almost.’

‘Thrust’ might not be the correct term. It was difficult to be sure, but it felt like they were retracting, shrinking down and then growing to full size and hardness again, like erections forming, deflating, and then forming again while buried up inside me. In, out, in, out. Oh, God. They felt bigger than they were before- was it just the motion, or were they actually growing? Was this what sex felt like? I felt obscenely bloated, wrapped around the perverse device. My whole body was… I couldn’t even marshall my thoughts to put it in words. My skin tingled, I was soaked in sweat, my breath came out in harsh pants. 

She was beside me now, her hands stroking my belly, my breasts, cupping them and rubbing them and pinching the nipples to hard little points. She rolled them with her thumbs, and then bent to suck one into her mouth. Compared to the bonfire that was the rest of my body, it was a gentle pleasure, but so strangely tender in contrast to the bizarre mechanical fornications that it seemed all the more powerful. She cooed wordlessly to me in approval and encouragement.

My crotch, my entire lower body felt like it was on fire, the wet thrusting sensation of the probes in my slick insides was like nothing I have ever felt before. I had never penetrated myself with anything larger than a finger, and these things felt as thick as my wrist. My anus felt obscenely stuffed, a sensation that would have been absolutely disgusting if not for how perversely pleasurable it was to feel something moving inside it, so slippery and warm. Yes, it was so _warm_. Were the probes heated? Was the lubricant some sort of warming aphrodisiac? I couldn’t tell…

The woman had her hands on the crotch-plate now, pushing it against my hips roughly, shoving the crotch-plate into my stomach, driving the probes even deeper into my battered depths. She started firmly, and swiftly became rough, her movements almost violent. God, I would have bruises at this rate, but it felt so goddamn _good_ I couldn’t even bring myself to try to protest. She was actually having sex with me- no, she was _fucking_ me. And I was _enjoying_ it. Did that make me a lesbian, too? Was sex so good it could rewire my brain like that? She was grinning, too, the damn smug asshole, as if amused by my confusion.

As if that wasn’t enough, I felt a gentle suckling sensation on my clitoris, as though the device had opened a set of warm internal rubber lips, and was lavishing it’s attention on me, gently pulling my nub up into itself. The lips vibrated too, and I felt a tension in my body wind tighter and tighter like a spring coiling in on itself and _oh Gawd too much too much what was going on too much I was gonna-_

My body exploded.

My vision went white, the room seeming to dissolve in front of my eyes in a soft glow as every muscle clenched and unclenched spasmodically like I was being electrocuted. The vibrations weren’t coming from the machine anymore, or at least not _just_ from the machine- they were coming from _me._ From _inside_ me. A bolt of lightning ran through my vagina and up along the length of my spine to detonate in the grey matter of my brain. I felt like a fire was burning me up from my bones out, I felt like I died and was reborn a hundred times over in a single drawn-out minute as my vagina- no, my _cunt-_ as my _cunt_ and my _ass_ clenched at the thrusting metal _cocks_ that were _fucking_ me _so goddamn good_ over and over again, I felt like I was the center of a sexual supernova and I didn’t want it to ever stop. I no longer lived _inside_ my body, I _was_ my body. I was nothing but a piece of wet, clutching, spasming, screaming meat. This wasn’t an orgasm. This was something more. 

It was horrible.

It was wonderful.

It was beyond words.

And far too soon and yet nowhere soon enough, it was over. Blackness descended, my eyes closed, and I knew no more.

~o0o~  
  


By the time I had regained consciousness, every bit of tension had been worked out of my body. My arms and legs went limp noodles, and my spine felt like rubber. I was drooling, I was sure of it, my jaw slack and flapping open. My hair was plastered to my face and my backside to the table with sweat. God. After all that, I needed a bath and a cup of iced tea and a year-long nap and a therapist and a priest. Also a cop.

The woman lay draped against my chest, her face nuzzled between my breasts, one hand cradling my head and the other splayed off to the side. The smooth leather of her jacket pressing into my stomach and side felt pleasantly cool against my heated flesh. She looked up at me, lookly oddly tender considering everything she had just done to me, and said, “Did you enjoy that, my dear?” she asked affectionately, an almost kittenish expression of tenderness on her face. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief. “Was it good for you? It certainly _looked_ good. I’m almost tempted to try the machine out for myself.” She ran a hand gently through my sweat-soaked hair. I leaned into it as best I could, the soft touch feeling... grounding, I suppose, after all that had happened.

“F-fuuhhh…” I panted, unsure whether I was trying to curse her for what she had done to me or thank her for it. But I’d done too much, experienced too much, and I could feel my mind shutting down in self-defense. Everything that had happened to me had drained me, body and mind- was I horrified? Was I thrilled? I just plain lacked the energy to speak, or even to decide what I felt, and it was likely that soon I would not have the energy to stay awake, either.

“Mmmm, I’m glad you had your fun. First time, I presume? Oh, don’t worry my sweet, the first time is always awkward and messy. But-” and she put a finger across my lips to still the protests I couldn’t have made anyway, “this wasn’t _just_ about your pleasure, no matter how beautiful it was.” She stood, crouched to retrieve her mask, and added as she tied it back onto her face, “And it _was_ beautiful, dear never doubt that. Your face was radiant as you came.” Her voice was tender, affectionate, and some deeply buried part of me clung to that gentleness like it was a life raft. I was being treated tenderly. After all that, I still deserved tenderness. That must mean it wasn't so bad.

She did _something_ to the crotch-plate, and with a wet _schlick_ the probes shrunk down to nothing, jolting a relieved groan from me, and the plate itself made a clicking sound like a latch being undone and loosened. The thong-back bar that had wedged itself between my buttocks seemed to shrink away also, and the device came free in her hands with yet another revoltingly wet sound and was thrown against the wall with surprising force. “There, dear,” she said, soundly strangely proud. “Look at the gift I have given you, Seeing. Isn’t it _beautiful?_ ”

I was almost afraid to look. God, who knows what that machine had done to my crotch. Would I be gaping, like those godawful shock videos Cindy used to send me as a prank? Would I ever close back up? Were my private parts so roughly abused that they'd be numb forever? I tried to lift myself into a sitting position on trembling arms, and managed to get halfway there before they gave out from under me.

“Can’t,” I said softly. “Too… too tired. Can’t get up. Arms don’t work.” Well, at least I could speak now. Indeed, I could move all my limbs, and all though I couldn’t be certain it felt like the paralysis had worn off I was just too tired to take advantage of it. Just my luck, huh? "Please... please help me?"

“Oh?” The woman (I couldn’t keep calling her that, it was getting silly) seemed impressed. “The _gll’gahht_ really did a number on you, huh?” She gave a little sigh. “Alright, then. Let’s get you up.” She threaded her arms under my armpits and smoothly hauled me into a sitting position, holding me up when it became clear I wouldn’t be able to keep myself there. Her arms looked slender, but there was an astonishing strength to them, and I let myself go limp as a newborn kitten in her arms. It was oddly comforting. “Well, then, Seeing, look and see what I did to you.”

I looked down at my lap, and I’m sure my eyes bugged halfway out of my head. Two things became obvious simultaneously:

Firstly, that the machine, the _gll’gahht,_ had absolutely _wrecked_ me down there. 

I was impossible swollen down there, my lower lips flushed a bright crimson and my clitoris still protruding from its hood like it was aroused. My skin was slick and shiny with my fluids, and the smell of them hit me like a blow. I could see my hips already purpling with bruises from my vulva almost to my belly button from the pounding I had gotten, and I felt tender and sore. It wasn't terribly painful, more like the ache after a heavy workout, a deep and almost satisfying soreness. 

Secondly, that I could see all this because I no longer had any pubic hair.

I had unwisely tried to remove it in my first year of college as an act of delayed teenage rebellion, and the sheer torment of the ild chemical burns that resulted from failing to read the instructions on the bottle of depilatory cream and the weeks of non stop itching as the hair regrew ensured that I never tried again. I didn’t exactly feel the loss- it wasn’t as if anyone but me was going to see, right? But now it was as bald as when I had shaved, albeit in far better condition, bare skin gleaming in the dim light.

Thirdly, that the _gll’gahht_ had given me a freaking tattoo.

Sharp, spiky lines decorated my lower belly, beginning just above where the line of my pubic hair used to start, and reaching down to stop just above my labia. A round, heart-shaped centerpiece right on top of my uterus sent two spiky prongs down to rest above my vulva, and two spiky swept arches to curl like thorned tentacles into spirals about where my ovaries were, all crested with a strange symbol that vaguely resembled an insect’s face. Actually, except for the insect-faced symbol, the whole looked like some sort of tacky ‘tribal’ tattoo of the female reproductive system, the sort of thing my church would hold up as evidence of the fallen, decadent state of the modern West.

The whole thing glowed with a gentle purple-white light that was slowly dimming even as I looked at it.

“That, my dearest,” the woman purred into my ear, “is the Mark of lauv’abrarc, the Lustful God. His holy sign is on your flesh now, dedicating you to Him, and to the steward and guardian of his realm, ah’maahnda. Which would, of course, be me. You’re mine now, my pet. I'll always know where you are, in this world and in any other, and your mind will be open to my words from across the universes. Already the light of Lusst’ghaa is coloring your aura, tinting it a beautiful shade of _lust._ I can see it, and one day soon you’ll be able to see it, too. Your mind will open up like your folds did under His touch, my dear, and I feel so very honored that I will be allowed to witness it.”

“There are, of course, other powers the Mark possesses, powers you’ll be discovering in the coming weeks, and you'll find them quite useful I’m sure. All part of preparing you for what’s to come. But I’m saying too much. Too long with only lauv’abrarc and the Changed and the Cult for company, I’ve been so eager to speak to someone new that I’m babbling.”

“Now, say ‘thank you for the gift, Amanda,’” she finished brightly.

“Th-thank you," I replied, "Amanda." I lay my head back, and feel asleep in her arms.

~o0o~

_Brrrriiiinnnggggg, Brrrriiiinnnggggg._

What? Oh. Ooohhhh. 

I grabbed my pillow and covered my ears. “Make it sttttooooppppp,” I moaned quietly. 

Of course. Of-effing-course I’d have the most _effed-up_ nightmare the night before my 8:00 AM History of South-East Asia class. After all, it was clearly not enough punishment from God that I’d scheduled the class obscenely early, or that the classroom was on the opposite side of the goddamn campus from my dorm- in the middle of freaking winter no less, or even that Professor Collins spoke so softly that I had to strain my ears to hear enough of his lesson to have a hope of passing. No, that might actually be _manageable._

Instead, I had the most depraved wet nightmare imaginable, where a masked woman forced me to indulge in insane mechanical lesbic maybe-sex-maybe-masturbation debaucheries until I loved it.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. My brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton batting, and I desperately needed caffeine to function today. I reach blindly across to my bedside table and fumbled for my glasses, shoving them onto my face and thankfully not impaling my eyeballs with the arms. I still had half a mug of tea from last night, didn’t I? Oh, thank Heavens, yes I did. I relaxed for a moment, savoring the sweet nectar taste of oversteeped ice-cold Earl Grey, and let the fog recede from my brain.

Right. Shower? Shower.

Getting up was a trial in and of itself, as my legs were wobbly as jelly, and as I stood up I cringed at the ache between my legs. How the hell did I hurt myself down there in real life? What was I _doing_ while I was asleep to leave my crotch feeling chafed raw? Was I grinding myself against the edge of the mattress or something? Oh, God, I hoped I hadn't made any noises- if I’d been moaning in my sleep she’d never let me hear the end of it.

I only stubbed my toe once in my stumbling trip to my dorm room’s adjoining bathroom, a fact I was somewhat proud of given how clumsy I felt.

Once inside with the door firmly shut, I ran the water and stripped as it heated up. I took my pajama shirt (technically just an old Nightmare Before Christmas shirt that I had been unwilling to throw out when it got moth eaten) off and folded it, putting it on the counter, and then tugged at the drawstring of my pants. Man, these dorm rooms with ensuite bathrooms were worth the added coast, they really were. I was going to have the _longest_ shower imaginable.

Finally managing the knots, I let my pants drop to the floor, and let out a shriek at the sight that greeted me.

The tattoo was still there.

  
  



	2. Things Heat Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orgasms, confessions, and twists. This chapter has it all.
> 
> Sorry this took so long. Things have been Happening, and LfB was released fully today.
> 
> I've been inspired to also write the No One Dies And Everyone Sees A (Sane) Therapist And The World Doesn't End Found Family Happy AU as a palate cleanser, so this will continue to update slowly. Sorrynotsorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, feel free to comment!

_“If it is the dirty element that gives pleasure to the act of lust, then the dirtier it is, the more pleasurable it is bound to be.”_

-Donatien Alphonse François, Marquis de Sade

_“You follow the Scream from beyond, leaving traces of sin behind._

_Do not be afraid, for the Absolute knows neither good not evil._

_In the shadow of the Lustful God, we will free ourselves from concepts for eternity.”_

-The Book of Lasih

~o0o~

No.

Nononononono this was not happening. I could not have a tattoo above my private parts. I could not have lost my virginity to a woman, and before marriage. My mom was going to kill me. My dad was going to kill me. My preacher was going to make me say so many prayers for forgiveness, and then kill me. My cross was going to leave blisters on my fingers to complement the blisters my knees would develop from kneeling to pray.

I didn’t even know where I put my Bible to even read prayers from, for God's sake! Oh, God, I really was going to go to Hell. Like, not literally going to Hell I don’t think, because God’s mercy is supposed to be infinite, and anyway it wasn’t like I had asked for any of that to happen to me even if His mercy did have limits, but oh my God this was all so wrong. Just so… so not anything I would ever have wanted- right? I mean, I didn’t want it, did I? Surely I didn't want what she did to me.

In retrospect, I wasn’t quite sure of that. She had been so gentle; I remembered the strength of her arms holding me, the gleam in her eyes, the way she stroked my hair as I lay slumped against her, the feel of her breasts against my arm, the feel of her lips on my breast, the almost kittenish expression of mischief on her face as I lay there exhausted from my orgasm...

Right. My breathing was labored, my hands were trembling, my heart was beating in my chest, and I had the strangest queasy feeling in my stomach; I realized I was probably panicking. Having a panic attack wouldn’t do me any good, now would it? So, facts first. No, shower first, the water was running. Thinking later.

Which would have been the perfect plan if the bathroom door hadn’t burst open with a loud bang and Cindy hadn’t barged in yelling “Holy shit, are you OK?” while I was standing there, butt-naked, with my newly-shaved and tattooed privates bare for all to see. She stared flabbergasted at my crotch, seemingly shocked into speechlessness for once. Her hair was wildly tangled, her very daring lamé minidress rumpled, and her purple eyeliner and black lipstick were smeared; she must have just conked out on her bed after a late night drinking and partying without removing any of them. Lord, I would be grateful that she would go to the effort of waking herself out of a drunken sleep and powering through what has got to have been a monster hangover to come check on me, but wow was this not the time for her to play at being a hero. Girls Supporting Girls was inspiring, but this was more Girls Awkwardly Barging In On Other, Naked Girls.

I covered my crotch with one hand, and my breasts with another, but it was too little, too late. Even if I had managed to cover the whole tattoo with one hand (I couldn’t, itwas too big), my recent haircut down south would probably have been noticeable, as would the smell of sex on me mixing with the lingering salt and copper smell of the alien world.

“So,” I said awkwardly, leaning back against the counter for support. “Hi. Have a nice party?” Well, that was an awkward opening, wasn’t it? Real smooth, Chrissy, real smooth. Greased lightning. Smooth as a cucumber. Chill as a fridge. Cindy won’t notice anything.

“A nice- yeah, yeah, it was great, everybody got wasted and J.T. got horny and jacked off all over the bathroom mirror and Cassie was giving head to the bartender behind the bar for free pink jaeger bombs for all of us and I think she put a finger up the dude's ass before he came- but I heard screaming and holy shit you shaved your pubes and got your cooch inked? What the-” Her voice steadily as she spoke, and by the time I broke in she was almost screaming, her eyes wild. Guess she noticed something. Fancy that.

I grabbed my old towel from the rack, wrapped it around myself securely, and clasped one hand around the back of her head and the other across her mouth, dulling her shouts to a muffled murmur that quickly died out in shock. “Lemme get a word in edgewise, please?” I asked. She nodded, her eyes wide. Her lips felt warm and wet against my hand, and my stomach fluttered strangely at the sensation. I took my hand away, discreetly wiping the drool and lipstick off onto my towel. My hand left a black smudge behind, and I hoped that wasn't some sort of omen.

“Cindy, I love you like a sister but right now is shower time. You know, showers? Wet naked body-soaping time?” I paused, and quickly clarified, “Usually alone wet naked body-soaping time. By myself. Alone.” Not that she had ever tried to take a shower with me or anything- we had, to say the least, wildly differing attitudes towards sex and propriety, but she was very strict about respecting boundaries. But still… better clarify. Man, my brain was going weird directions this morning, but I guess it made sense that it would, with all the… everything happening, that my mind was still sort of in the gutter making things awkward.

“I know what a shower is,” she snapped, “and I wasn’t trying to perv on you for fuck’s sake, you know I don't do that creepy shit- this isn’t about me, the question is: what the fuck happened to you?” Hands on her hips, she glared daggers at me. She wasn’t usually this fierce, not about me, not about anything. I must have annoyed her. "Look, I'm worried about you! You just don't do this kind of thing!"

“Can we deal with this after I’m clean?” I asked wearily, facepalming. Before she could protest I quickly added, “Yes, I think we can.” So saying, I gave her a firm push and shut the door firmly behind her, muffling her ongoing questions. “Goodbye, Cindy. Talk to you after I'm clean!” I called after her. "No hard feelings, please, but right now I really need to decompress!"

I locked the door, wiggled the knob to make sure it was locked properly this time, and let the towel drop to the floor and kicked it away into the corner. I looked at my naked form in the mirror. First I had to deal with my own issues before I dealt with hers- it was rude of me to talk to her like that, much less manhandle her like a spoiled child, but right now I had more than enough on my plate with all this without dealing with her concerned attempts to help.

The tattoo was just as I had remembered, save that the purple glow had died down completely- now the sharp lines were pure black; not the green-black most tattoos were, but an almost unnatural pitch-black that looked like a cutout section of void. Seen in the clear light of the bathroom' overhead fluorescents rather than the dim light of the dream, the symbol was even more clearly a tracing of my reproductive system, from my vagina to my womb and even curling tentacle-like over my ovaries, all crowned with the strange glyph Amanda had called the Mark of lauv'abrarc. I brushed my fingers over the Mark, remembering the sensations that had cascaded through my body when it was being applied. The searing pleasure, the ecstatic pain... like Heaven and Hell mixed together until they were inseparable...

Where the heck had that chamber been, anyway? I stomped firmly down on the little bit of myself that believed it actually was Hell. Couldn't have been Hell, could it? I'm still alive. No, something about that idea seemed wrong somehow- that place was far from hellish, really, as bizarre as what had happened had been.Not exactly what I'd call Heaven either, of course. Lusst'ghaa. That had been one of the words the choir had chanted. The other, lauv'abrarc, Amanda had called the 'Lustful God;' so, perhaps 'Lusst'ghaa' was the name of the world?What sort of an alien dimension was called Lusst'ghaa, anyway? Wasn't that a bit on-the-nose a name for the place you get dragged off to and sexually pleasured by an alien lesbian in? 'Lust-ga'? But then again, what kind of name would actually suit an alien dimension where you get vibrated by an H.R. Geiger alien lesbian's tentacle-tattoo machine? It's not like they could name it Alienworld, or Dimension #1138, or Universe Aleph or something equally comic book-ish, not and be taken seriously by other aliens. Not that I really read comic books- mother always said they weren't Godly- but Cindy kept talking about Marvel movies and such, and I picked up a few things. Frankly, in my time at college I'd picked up a passing familiarity with quite a few ungodly things from Cindy- films, art, comics, sex jokes...

I put the thoughts out of my head through the simple expedient of getting in the shower, unhooking the detachable shower head, and holding it right up to my head; soaking it beneath the hot spray until all the thoughts churning around inside me dissolved, amd then turning the powerful spray onto my aching back muscles. Oh, yeah. That felt good. The hot water against my flesh seemed to penetrate deep inside, relaxing muscles I hadn't even know I'd been clenching up. The tension that had been coiling in my spine slowly loosened, my back unkinked, and I did a little stretch to under the hot water to really work out the ache, moving the head up and down the length of my spine and practically purring as I could feel it unkinking.

Returning the head to it's hook, I took a moment to appreciate the delicate citrus smell of the bar soap I'd bought the other week before lathering up my loofa and giving myself a thorough scrub, trying to strip the stale sweat and other, less mentionable fluids, from my pores. I soaped myself up, briskly at first but then slowing with a wince of pain. Yeah, no, I was clearly still aching a bit too much to treat my body that roughly, especially down south.

Ever-so-gingerly, I scrubbed between my legs, trying not to agitate the bruised flesh too much, rubbing gently along the outer labia and in the crease of my thigh, trying to remove the crusted-on fluids. Huh. That... didn't actually feel too bad- kind of pleasant, really. The bruises were fading too, I thought. Experimentally I pushed a little harder, and rather than pain I was rewarded with an almost sensual friction, and I let out an involuntary moan of pleasure. Oh, my God. Whatever had been done to me had left me sensitive in an entirely different way than I had expected. Good Lord. The rough touch of the loofa almost felt better than my fingers did during the few times I'd shamefully masturbated, a deep pleasure that had just the slightest hint of pain to it. I knew I shouldn't, but I kept scrubbing even after it was clean, stroking my crotch back and forth, back and forth, feeling the rough netting slipping between my lower lips, lubricated by the water and soapy lather and quite likely by my own juices, too.

Whoo. Getting a little bit... you know, in here. 'Porny,' Cindy would call it, rubbing your privates with a soapy loofah and moaning like a... like a scarlet woman, I guess mother would say, a Jezebel. Or like the women in the videos I sometimes saw Cindy watching. It was utterly indecent, the sort of behavior my mother had warned me about over and over again, the kind she said would lead inevitably to moral and mental degradation, to homosexuality and paganism, and eventually to being forced to prostitute myself to the sinners. But really, why shouldn't I touch myself? It wasn't as if I had any purity to worry about at this point, was it? The mysterious woman Amanda had already taken every purity -except my virginity, maybe, depending on how strictly you defined it- from me. What more harm could my fingers do, when she had penetrated me so thoroughly in both lower orifices?What was masturbation compared to having orgasmed with a woman's lips suckling at my nipples? Why should I worry about preserving what I no longer had?

Fuck it.

Even the word was liberating. Fuck. God, it felt so good to let myself think it. Fuck-fuck-fuck fuckity-fuck. Fuck it, fuck me, fuck the rules, just fuck. I wanted to scream it out loud thrusting my fingers deep into my vagina- no, my cunt, my slutty dripping cunt- until I came but I couldn't let Cindy hear. I guess I'd have to do this quietly, then, without the loud moaning and screaming that sounded so sexy right now. 

I threw the loofah to the floor. My hands would do the job with far more grace, and far less roughness too, I thought. Mmmmm, though rough didn't exactly sound bad right now. I slid a single finger experimentally between my legs, and gritted my teeth hard to stopper up the gasp of pleasure that wanted to escape my throat. Sweet Jesus, I was sensitive now. I thrust the finger in and out, curling it upwards in a come-hither gesture in an attempt to find the 'G-spot' that Cindy had mentioned once, probing up along my wet canal with my index finger and dragging it back out. I didn't find any spots in particular that felt especially good to touch, but the entire experience felt so wonderful that it really didn't matter. God, what had that machine done to me! Every sexual movement I made, even the slightest stroke of a solitary finger within my depths, felt as though it sent lightning bolts skittering from my throbbing clit to my brain, lighting my nerves on fire! It was a burning, all-consuming need that set my pulse racing, my heart pounding, my breath thundering in my ears even over the constant hammer of the water, a need too great to be quenched with just one finger. I added another, and it was good, but not nearly enough, i wanted more; more filling, more depth, more penetration, opening me up and filling me. A third finger had me gasping out loud briefly at the stretch as I thrust all threedown to the final knuckle, my pussy so wet that despite the stretch the action felt almost frictionless, my thumb on my clit rubbing it like a worry stone. I'd read that you weren't supposed to touch the clitoris right away, you needed lots of foreplay to warm yourself up for such direct stimulation, but apparently I was now wired differently because sweet Jesus that did it for me, sending warm waves up pleasure from my clit across my entire body, my pussy twitching around my fingers in a gentle but deeply pleasurable orgasm. It was good, it was very good, but it was nowhere near enough.

I took a slow, steady breath to calm myself, and switched to a single slowly pumping finger as I plotted what perversion to indulge in next. It briefly occurred to me that Cindy's bottle of cucumber-scented shampoo was awfully phallic in shape and nice and smooth. It had a slight swell at the 'head' of the shaft that would be a little challenging to fit in, but after I'd gotten the head in it would probably slide quite easily into my depths and fill me up wonderfully...but no, it would terribly bad manners to hump my room mate's property. Without asking, that is, but that was a conversation for later. Much later.

My eyes caught on the shower head hanging innocently on it's hook, and a wicked, sinful idea crept into my mind. If the stream of hot water felt that good pounding my sore back into submission, how good would it would it feel pounding something lower?

Very good, as it turns out.

The light setting felt good at first, but nothing special, and the waves of hot water drenched my just felt relaxing on my tender flesh. Well, a gentle massage was nothing to sneer at, I thought, and arched my hips a little, thrusting my crotch at the spray as I thumbed the setting selector to 'massage.' That felt better, the warm water lapping at my folds like an impossibly-huge tongue that didn't so much lick me as constantly press against me in undulating waves. I spread my labia open with my free hand, allowing the lashing waves to stroke within my folds, gently but firmly pressing against my clitoris in a hot trip straight to orgasm-land. A bit of awkward fumbling and I managed to hold the shower head clenched between my heels so I could slide two fingers deep inside and fuck myself with them as the water caressed my clit.

The warmth seemed to build and build as a second climax boiled through my body; my clitoris seemed to throb, my spine tingled, and I clenched my teeth near to shattering trying to keep a moan inside of me as I clenched spasmodically around my fingers so hard I could swear I could hear the bones creak and groan. I bucked like I was being electrocuted, twitching so hard I slammed my elbow into the shower wall, but even the shooting pain from my funny bone could only dim the pleasure, not stop it entirely. I yanked my hand from out of my depths to press against the side of the shower, steadying myself, and pushed against the sink through the shower curtain with the other, my heels drumming against the floor in a rapid drumbeat as the second-most powerful orgasm of my twenty years raced through me. As it ran it's course, I slumped down limply, awkwardly grabbing for the taps to stop the water flow, closed my eyes, and lay in an exhausted stupor, thinking.

"...Wow."

Yeah, there was definitely gonna be a new me in town.

Masturbating was so much better than praying -or at least the boring church kind of praying, I figured praying to lauv'abrarc the Lustful God involved some more interesting activities while one was down on one's knees than just mouthing old platitudes- and full-on sex would almost have to be even better. Some of it, like the blowjobs, would be as hard on the knees as the prayers my church had me pray, but I figured the rewards would be well worth it.

All my life, I'd lived in fear, you know? Fear of sex, fear of men, fear of sin, just fear. Mother's words about 'degeneracy' echoing through my head every time I so much as thought about sex, the faint scars of the back of my hand from where Mother had beat them with a ruler until they bled after catching me masturbating when I was young throbbing whenever I got wet... so many nights staying in with the Bible praying instead of going out and having fun with the girls, so many chaste dates that fell apart when they realized that my purity ring was actually worn sincerely and not just as a 'no-vaginal' pledge, so many missed opportunities.

I thumbed the ring on my finger. This ring. This goddamned ring. "My beloved, I will wait." I didn't even need to open my eyes to look, I knew the words of the pledge by heart.But what fucking beloved? A man who didn't even exist, and even if he existed wouldn't be some sort of fairy tale Prince Charming but just another boorish corrupt preacher's son who would all but buy me from my father, probably with his dick still wet from whatever normal girl he'd been fucking behind his church's back. And it's not like any of the other girls were going to their marriage beds virgins, either, really. I knew for a fact half the unmarried girls at church were 'technical virgins' at most, and quite a few probably not even that. Why the hell should I wait? Really, I owed Amanda my thanks for what she did, for freeing me from this fucking ring and the stupid promise I had made before I was old enough to even know what sex was.

The next time I saw her- and I would, somehow I knew that I would- I was going to giver her this ring in honor of the kindness she did me. And then I was going to eat her out for an hour straight, just to make my feelings clear.

It was onlythen that I looked down and saw that the tattoo was glowing.

~o0o~

Yes, the thing over my crotch was glowing, a subdued purple-white glow, like something out of one of Cindy's friend Cassie's fantasy books. The glow pulsated slowly; in time with my heartbeat, I thought, pulsing in sync with the blood flowing through me. It was faint, barely visible under the bright florescent bathroom lights, but looking closely it was indisputably glowing.

Well, why not? After everything crazy that'd been happening, why not a magic tattoo? Next thing you know, I'll be receiving owl mail inviting me to learn magic from a bunch of weird English witches and selling my soul to the Queen of England for power and calling people 'mugg-bloods', or whatever it was actually happened in those Harry Potter books. I never read them, and from what I heard it was one of the fews things I'd been missing out on that I wouldn't wind up regretting.

All of which was a distraction from the freaking glowing magic tattoo. I forced my breathing to remain steady. Panic attacks would not help me right now, and panicking over every little thing belonged to the old me. The tattoo was not hurting me, if anything the slight warm sensation I could feel from it was relaxing, and there was no sign that it was going harm me in any way.

I'd just have to ask Amanda about it, in between eating her out and showering her with praise. But all that was a matter for later- right now what I had to do was explain things to Cindy. I sure hoped she would be a little chiller about all this than she had been before, now that she'd had time to calm down and cool off.

~o0o~

“You got a tattoo?”

Cindy was, to say the least, not as blasé as I might have hoped. To be fair, I could hardly blame her- it must be shocking to see your conservative 'fundie' roommate butt naked with shaved privates and a big tattoo over her gaped-open and still-dripping crotch. 

“I, uh. Ok, look.” Charismatic speaking had never been my strong suit, but this was ridiculous even by my standards. Think, think. "It's not what it looks like." Wonderful. Grace personified there, girl. "Ok. Maybe it's kinda what it looks like?"

“You got a womb tattoo?”

“Wait, what? A wo- a what?” Is that what they were called? That’s weird, and gross. I mean, I guess it was over my womb? But that's just... kinda weird. But, no, no more 'ooooh, that's so gross' from us, remember? This was the new Christine talking, and after lesbians aliens and tentacle tattoo fuckmachines, a little cartoon porn just wasn't that weird anymore. Weeby, but not weird.

“And, holy shit, happened to your cooch? Likeyou’re all puffy. Your whole stomach is bruised. Omigod, did you have sex? Like, actual sex? Or… oh my god.” All the gossipy excitement drained out of her voice, her shoulders slumped, and she asked in a hushed voice, “Hey. Did some guy… did he force you? Do you need me to call the cops? Or, I don't know, get my brother to beat the shit out of him?”

I winced. Oh no, not good. Sweet thought on her part, but man did I not want to go down that road. Not like her brother could could even find Amanda, much less hurt her. “I, uh, no. It was with a girl. It’s ok, I wasn’t raped or anything; I wanted it. Uh, thanks for, uh, thanks for worrying though.” I put my hand over hers briefly, and added, "Really. I'm really glad you're here for me, but it wasn't rape or anything like that at all." I guess it wasn’t rape, was it? Like, as panicky as I felt about anyone else finding out, I wasn’t really even sure that I objected to what the woman had done. Not really. Or maybe I did? It was all so confusing, but the last thing I wanted was to drag Cindy into this whole crazy mess- like, how could I explain the alien dimensions or the magic tattoo machine? The whole thing would sound crazy! I mean, sure, I could show her the tattoo, if it was still glowing...

“Besides, oh my gosh, it’s not my whole stomach, you’re exaggerating.” She was, to be fair; even ignoring the suspiciously-rapid healing, the bruising was mostly located around the tattoo itself, presumably a product of the actual tattooing, and the upper hips where Amanda had driven the crotch plate of the ghll’ghaat into me. I’d had worse from volleyball. "It wasn't over the whole stomach, and it's actually healing really fast- must have looked worse than it really was. Bruises do, sometimes."

“Jesus. You shaved your pubes, got fucked hard by a woman, and got inked with a fucking hentai tat, and you're telling me it's all fine because the bruises weren't that bad? Jesus. When you conservative marriage-first types sin, you sin hard.” She paused a moment, and looked suspiciously at me. "You were in there a long time, you know. I kind of figured you might be having a nervous breakdown or something, but if you're chill with what happened... omigod. Were your masturbating in there? Like, just in there, giving the new cooch a test run?" She grinned at me mischievously, and made a dirty gesture with both hands. "Go girl! You get it on, Miss Thang! Werk, bitch." She must have been hanging out with Cassie's drag queen friends again; her conversation was always full of perversely incomprehensible slang for weeks afterwards.

I didn't respond, just sent her a withering glare. I had been masturbating, she wasn't wrong, I had even been performing the act she'd been pantomiming, and I honestly wasn't even uncomfortable with her knowing that I had masturbated; but still, did she have to phrase it quite like that? It was so... tacky. But, again, no. New me; I kept forgetting that. Well, fine; if she wanted full-bore sexuality, then she could have it. On my terms.

She must have seen my distaste, and hastily added, “Not criticizing, not criticizing! Like, seriously, girl. That’s kinda hot. Shit.” She fidgeted, leaning back on her bed with what even I could tell was badly-faked ease. "So. Did you have fun?" She interlaced her fingers behind her head, and gave me an awkward smile.

"I am not telling you that," I replied automatically; but then I reconsidered. After all, why not? Why should the New Me worry about telling her all the juicy details? She could hardly judge, could she? "Yes," I admitted. "Lot's of fun." I stopped myself from looking away sheepishly, and instead met her gaze unapologetically. "Nearly broke my arm against the wall, I was, you know, spasming around so hard. Saw stars." I made the same gesture she had, making an oval with my left hand and thrusting two fingers of my right into it, but instead of straight thrusting I curled my fingers and made a come-hither gesture inside the circle of my left hand, before rubbing the outside like I was massaging a clitoris. How was that for lechery, 'Miss Thang'?

"Whoo girl!,"she cheered, pumping her fist in the air enthusiastically. "Damn right! Breaking way outa your shell, huh?"

I smiled. More than you know. "Yeah," I said instead, "I guess. A little. Anyway, I like the tat- I think it looks good on me. I like the whole new me, honestly. It feels... it feels good."

“Yeah? It does look good on you. I kinda think I’d look good with something like that, too, honestly. I hope you don't think I'm copying your vibe if I get something like that. Which parlor did you say you got it at?" She paused, and then asked awkwardly, “You sure don’t want, like, something more than a towel to wear while we’re talking? Like, not that I mind, I’ve seen a lot more, believe me, but uh, I always thought you were Miss Modesty.”

"Me? Miss Modesty?" I asked. I waved my left hand with it's Purity Ring demonstratively, and asked "Now, why-ever would you think a thing like that? Clearly, I'm debauchery incarnate. But, no, I think I'm good in a towel, actually. New me, remember? No more Miss Modesty- Miss Immodesty is going to come out to play"

She snorted. "Yeah. The Queen of Pervs, that's you- one tattoo and one night's sex, and you're Catherine the Great reincarnated. We'll have to lock up the men and the horses to keep your from wearing them down to nubs. Look, I'm thrilled you're having a good time, coming out of your shell and all, but can I just ask what the fuck brought this whole... thing on? Like, one minute it's all 'I must wait until marriage, and no technical virginity isn't real, anal is a sin,' and 'gosh, are you sure the Lord our God condones your heathen Jezebel Scarlet Woman slutwhore ways-"

"I never called you a slutwhore!" I protested. I'd been very demur in my language, thank you very much, and circumspect in my criticisms.

"Yeah," she replied, "because you could never get dirty words past your mouth. You thought slutwhore hard enough for me to pick up, and I don't even believe in psychics." She was sitting up now, eager as a blood hound. "The hell happened with you?"

"Ok, look," I began slowly. Was I really going to tell her about Lusst'ghaa and Amanda? Would she believe me, even if I showed her that tattoo was glowing? Would she just call it glow-in-the-dark ink, or would she believe me? "It's a really weird story, and I'mgoing to need you to listen."

"Gotcha," she replied, nodding firmly to show the depth of her seriousness.

I believed her, but I sat up and crossed over to her bed anyway, wrapping my hands around hers and looking her dead in the eyes. "I really need you to believe me," I said. "This is going to sound completely crazy, and I know you've got no reason to trust me, but I need you to believe that what I'm telling you actually happened."

"I believe you, I believe you! Look, we've disagreed on stuff, right, but I don't think you're crazy! I-"

BANG. BANG. BANG.

What the hell? Was there someone at the door? It sounded like they were using a battering ram! The whole room shook under the force of the blows, and the door shuddered in it's frame.

"The fuck is that?" Cindy asked. She sighed angrily, and took her hands out from under mine. I missed the contact almost immediately. "The fucking RA again? Christ. I told him it wasn't me smoking weed, but did he believe me? Noooooo."

I shrugged wordlessly. I had no idea. Was it because of a noise complaint? I wasn't that loud when I came, was I? I sniffed the air as Cindy got up to answer the door.No, it didn't smell like she'd been smoking weed again. Anyway, with all the noise whoever-it-was was making, if he didn't stop soon, we would have to deal with the RA on top of whoever this turned out to be.

"Hold your fucking horses," she snapped, her hand on the knob, "I'm com-"

The door exploded inwards as three men in bizarre red and black leather outfits and sharp, bladed metal masks stormed into the room, shoving Cindy brutally to away and pushing her to the floor. One of them set a booted foot on her head and said, "Shut the fuck up if you know what's good for you, bitch," pointing a goddamn three-foot wooden dildo at her threateningly as though it were a club. "Move, and I crush your skull like a fucking egg, and I piss on your brains."

The other two drew knives, and pointed them at me. They glinted in the morning light, their almost certainly razor-sharp edges gleaming menacingly.

"Seeing One," the one on the right, who had the more ornate mask, said coldly, "you're coming with us, and if you fucking resist, I'm allowed to chop all of your friend's fucking fingers and toes toes off before Brandon here fucks her ass to death with his little stick. Fuck around, and I promise you that you won't like finding out."

Oh sweet holy Jesus.

I held my hands up, like I'd seen people do for the police on television. "Please," I said, "I'll go with you. I'm not resisting. Just... just let her go, ok? Please don't hurt her." Oh god, please let them listen, please make them listen. Don't let them hurt her.

"Sure," their leader sneered. "We'll let your little friend go nice and safe. Just shut your mouth and put the fucking cuffs on nice and easy."

"Wh- what cuffs?" I asked, and then cringed at the realization that he'd specifically ordered me not to speak. Oh God don't let him take that the wrong way, don't let him hurt her. Or me. 

He didn't, thankfully. Instead, he jerked his head at the man on the left, and said, "Hodgkins. Put the fucking cuffs on her, damnit. Do I have to hold your cock when you piss, too?" He shook his head in disgust, and muttered barely audibly, "Why does the Cult get all the smart ones, and we get all the useless fuckups?"

"Hey, I'd like you to hold my dick," Hodgkins replied, pulling a set of zip-cuffs from his belt and walking towards me, "but I think you wouldn't. I'd piss all over you for starters, and you aren't Danny. Hey, didja know I saw him pissing all over hims-"

"Shut the fuck up and cuff the bitch, dumbass. This isn't comedy hour. And don't tell me your pervy fantasies, you're creeping me out."

Hodgkins silently twisted my hands cruelly behind my back, and cuffed them securely. The plastic of the zip cuffs bit deeply into my wrists, and I was sure they'd be numb from lack of blood in moments. I bit back a cry as he shoved me towards the leader. "There we are," their boss said sleazily, drawing one glove-clad finger down my face as he stared into my eyes.His eyes were a dull grey, somehow lacking the spark of a normal person's eyes. It was like locking eyes with a corpse that had forgotten how to lay still. "Pretty as a fucking picture, ain't she?"

"Brandon," he added almost absently, still staring into my eyes. "Kill the spare, would you? You can fuck the corpse afterwards."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you didn't expect that, did you?  
> Don't worry- things won't be THAT bleak.  
> Maybe...


End file.
